


It Wasn't Supposed to Be Like This

by chronicopheliac



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, Assisted Suicide, Everything Hurts, Fatal Injury, First Kiss, First Time, Heavy Angst, I'm Sorry, Last Kiss, M/M, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Suicide, sadness and pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-13 08:32:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13566777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chronicopheliac/pseuds/chronicopheliac
Summary: Though Will and Hannibal survive their fall, it's not long before something is terribly wrong. Hannibal's wound has gone septic, and there's nothing he nor Will can do.





	It Wasn't Supposed to Be Like This

**Author's Note:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

After they fall, there is pain. But they survive. They make it to another safe house, a few miles away. Hannibal stitches Will up, then himself. He is bedridden, but Will is strong enough to break into a pharmacy for the antibiotics they need. 

Recovery is slow and agonizing. Most of their days are spent sleeping. Will stays in the bed with Hannibal to keep an eye on him. Or that’s what he tells himself. Neither is comfortable with too much distance. It’s frightening, anymore, to be alone. 

The smell is the first sign Will has that something’s wrong. Up until now, Hannibal had been changing his own bandages, so Will never got to look. 

Will is angry. If he’s smelling it now, it means it’s been going on for a while. Which also means Hannibal has known for a while, and has been hiding it from him.

Will forces Hannibal’s hands aside and cuts away the bandages. The wound is clearly infected, and the skin around it is red and swollen.

“How long have you known?”

Hannibal looks down at his hands. “I realized it was infected several days ago.”

“When you sent me for more antibiotics.”

“Yes.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“The infection has not responded to the antibiotics. I’m getting worse.”

“You need a hospital.”

The truth of it hits them both like a knife to the gut. They can’t go to a hospital, or they risk everything. But if they don’t go, Hannibal will die.

“No,” Hannibal says. “I will not risk our freedom.”

“But you’ll risk your life?”

“You already risked our lives. I daresay you intended to end them.” He looks Will in the eyes. There is no anger in them.

Will wishes there was. It would make things easier. “But we survived.”

“Perhaps we were not meant to.”

“That’s bullshit. Tell me what I need to do. Surgery? More antibiotics?” Will gets up to fill a basin with cold water and wet a cloth. He presses it to Hannibal’s feverish forehead. “Hannibal?”

Hannibal shakes his head. “It’s too dangerous.”

“So what am I supposed to do? Watch you die?”

“You don’t have to watch. You could leave.”

It should make Will happy. Hannibal is dying, just as he’d intended. But instead he’s angry, and dangerously close to despair.

“Like fucking hell I will. You selfish asshole. Where the fuck else would I go?”

The corner of Hannibal’s mouth curves up. “The duffel bag in the hall closet has everything you need to build a new life.”

Will doesn’t look. He gets into bed and tucks himself against Hannibal’s side. Unable to put his arm around Hannibal’s waist, he rests his hand on Hannibal’s chest, instead.

He swallows a lump of emotion, and rests his head on Hannibal’s shoulder. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

“What was it supposed to be like?”

Will tells him.

He speaks of the best of all possible worlds. A different choice made, and a new family stitched together from mismatched pieces. He tells him how they made it work.

There is no regret in Will’s words. The time for that is long past. There is sadness, though, and by the end of Will’s tale, tears stain his cheeks. He is surprised to find tears on Hannibal’s cheeks, too.

Will kisses the tears away. Then, he kisses Hannibal. It’s too gentle. Far too easy to get lost in the warmth of Hannibal’s lips. But he can’t kiss Hannibal the way he wants to, or he risks tearing his cheek open. He almost does it anyway.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

He drapes his leg over Hannibal’s thigh, pressing closer. His fingertips graze over Hannibal’s chest, careful to avoid the reddened flesh around his ribs.

He’s furious. With himself, for taking so long to accept this. With Hannibal, for being so goddamn calm. 

Hannibal grabs at Will’s thigh, a soft moan escaping his lips. Not that calm, it seems.

“Will…”

Will growls low in his throat, rocking his hips. “Is there any--”

“In the duffel bag.”

“Presumptuous bastard.”

Hannibal flashes an infuriating smile.

Will returns with the bottle and gets back into bed. “Er… Should I…”

“Allow me.” Hannibal takes the bottle.

He tilts the bottle into his palm and waits for Will to slide off his boxers before taking him in hand. After a few strokes, Hannibal carefully shifts to his side. Will tugs down Hannibal’s sleep pants and lines himself up.

They fit together so easily. They come apart easily, as well.

They lie there for hours after, tangled together. Will kisses Hannibal’s shoulder, while Hannibal brings Will’s knuckles up to his lips. They don’t speak; there is nothing left to say.

The infection spreads. Hannibal trembles, feverish in Will’s arms. The only sign he is in agony is the tightening of his fingers around Will’s wrist. Stoic bastard, right to the end.

In the middle of the night, Hannibal moans. He’s weak, now, barely able to speak. But he tugs at Will’s hand, urging him to come close.

“Will,” he rasps.

Will doesn’t trust himself to speak, so he waits.

“I should tell you… I--”

“Shut up. Shut the fuck up, Hannibal. I don’t want to hear it. I d-don’t--” Will’s voice cracks, and he tongues the inside of his cheek in an attempt to ground himself. “Don’t you fucking dare say what I think you’re going to say and then leave me.”

Hannibal’s lips curve up, and he sighs. “Very well, my dear Will. Then allow me to say this: do not blame yourself.”

Will barks a laugh, jarring his tears loose. “You know I will. I always do.”

“Try. If nothing else, take that part of me inside yourself. Don’t feel guilty.”

Burying his face between Hannibal’s shoulders, Will nods. “I’ll try. I…”

“Kiss me, Will. Please.”

Will does. And then he does again. He kisses Hannibal until his stitches rip, and the pain flares white hot. It’s nothing compared to the ache in his chest. 

His blood flows into Hannibal’s mouth. His tears mingle on Hannibal’s cheeks. He can’t watch Hannibal like this anymore.

“Is there something I can do to… spare you the rest?”

Hannibal tries to laugh, but it’s more of a pained cough. “The duffel--”

“Duffel bag. Got it.”

There is a small black case filled with syringes and vials. Will brings it to bed and holds it up so Hannibal can see.

“This?”

“Yes.” Hannibal is breathless, now, and just the one word comes as barely a whisper. “Fi… fill the syringe… with a vial…”

Will fills the syringe. “Does it matter where…?”

Hannibal doesn’t seem to hear him. He grasps at Will’s arm, brows knitted.

No point in drawing it out any longer. Will jams the needle into Hannibal’s neck and pushes the plunger all the way down. Then, he wraps his arms around Hannibal’s torso, holding him tight through the convulsions until his body gives out at last.

Will doesn’t know how long he lays there, coiled around Hannibal’s body. Long enough for the sun to rise. Long enough for Hannibal’s body to cool and stiffen. He aches down to his soul.

It really wasn’t supposed to be like this. _Can’t live with him, can’t live without him._

He takes another syringe, and fills it up. He kisses Hannibal one last time, grieving for all the time they’d wasted. All the time they would never have.

The needle stings. The fluid burns beneath the surface of his skin. His entire body writhes in agony. It doesn’t last long.

With his dying breath, Will curls himself against Hannibal’s back, arms wrapped around him once more. There was no place for them in this world. He could only hope there would be a place for them in the next.


End file.
